The Definition of Lonely - The whole Story
by UrbanTunes
Summary: This story is set after the end of Leon Lopez' award winning short film "The Definition of Lonely" (2015). Discover how our enigmatic strangers meet again and how the spark of their romance grows into something strong and beautiful. Disclaimer: None of the beautiful characters belong to me.
1. Chapter 1

The Definition of Lonely

When Charlie and I get home after this unusual encounter, we immediately go back to our routine. I take a can of dog food form the pantry to feed Charlie. As always, he gives a few excited yelps while I walk over to his bowl – he's so greedy! I feel pleased with myself and with Charlie. If it hadn't been for him, it wouldn't have happened.

Even so, while I watch him wolf down his Frolic, I start wondering. I jumped head over heels into this, and I am starting to feel I might have bitten off more than I can chew. What do I know about narcolepsy? That man must be seriously ill – by the sound of it, he's totally isolated. What if he really can't stay awake long enough for a sensible conversation, or other acitivities?

If I'm being honest with myself, though, I've got quite a crush – the idea of not calling him or calling off our date makes me genuinely sad. How typical for me! I really must be more careful, or I'll fall into the same trap as when I met Ian. Back then, it became clear soon enough that he had serious psychological issues. I should have backed away then – looking back, it even seems possible that I may have been able to help him better if I hadn't got romantically involved with him. But I did. I told myself I could handle it, that our love would conquer this obstacle, that he needed to be saved.

And here I am, just a year after that horror, asking out a man with a strange and rare condition that appears pretty difficult to handle. Am I crazy? Or is it the real thing this time?

After all, there was something. I felt something. He said it too – he said it had been the longest conversation he had had in years. That must mean something, mustn't it? It was easy being with him, and the attack didn't frighten me at all.

This date will work out fine: I'll just take him to Stan's where he can sit on the sofa in the corner and I can take the chair opposite. That way, he can lean back comfortably if anything happens. I would have taken him out to a fancier place on our first date, but safety is more important. Plus, Stan will give me the table I want, even if it is short notice.

So, I can handle the date, no problem. I'll take him by cab, so he can't fall over, and after dinner, I'll drop him off again. I guess it's advisable anyway not to stretch out the evening. If it doesn't go well or he realises he can't keep up a conversation for long, we can end it quickly. And I am already resolved not to take any risks tomorrow. I'm keeping it purely platonic – I don't want to overexcite him – or myself, for that matter.

I call Stan's to order a table for tomorrow night at seven. Stan himself picks up the phone. We're old friends and I feel safe taking this unusual date to his restaurant. He promises me to keep my favourite table ready. I can hear in his voice that he is grinning knowingly while we talk. If he knew…

After that, I reckon it would be wise to find out more about this cataplexy thing. Better be prepared. So I sit down at my desk to do some Internet research. After about two hours, I am stunned. I had known the word "narcolepsy" from jokes and anecdotes and had never thought twice about it. Now I understand how serious this issue is for those afflicted by it.

And something else strikes me: I found out that cataplexies often happen when the patient laughs or cries. We were talking about me having been married to a man when he had his attack. What was he feeling at the time? When it was over, he talked about the fact as if he hadn't been surprised at all. But was he?


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

I really got into reading about narcoleps – so much so that I genuinely forgot the time! It's a twelve minutes past six when I notice the clock. I hasten to look for my mobile – needless to say, it's not where I usually keep it. After a minute of bewildered search I find it in my jeans pocket.

Dear me, I'm already so nervous about calling him that I hesitate – even though I am almost sure that he wants me to call. I mean, he needn't have given me his phone, for one thing. Moreover, if he had minded my advances, he could have made that much clearer. I'm pretty confident that I can tell the difference between person who is disgusted and a person who is just shy. And… he – I still don't even know his name! – is the epitome of shyness. I find this very endearing, to be honest.

Taking a deep breath, I call the number saved in my phone. As I listen to the beep I can feel my heartbeat in my ears. But after at least half a minute without an answer, I give up and end the call. I'm annoyed at my own disappointment. 'He might just be asleep, for god's sake,' I tell myself. 'Plus, you only met him two hours ago. Your future happiness does not depend solely on this phone call. Grow up!'

Still, it's a relief when the phone does ring mere minutes later. I hurry over from the kitchen area with my freshly brewed cup of coffee and raise the phone to my ear. "Hi, this is Stephen speaking."

"Erm, hi… it's me? George? From the park?" He sounds like he is asking questions rather than introducing himself. I take a stab at my super-confident-in-control voice. "Oh, hi! I was wondering when I'd learn your name," I boom. "I'm glad you called me back, _George_." I am only realising now how much I like this name.

"Yes," he continues, "I'm really sorry I couldn't pick up the phone earlier. It was..." I cut across him. "No problem. You don't need to explain yourself." I feel my voice is too loud, but I can't help it right now. And I do mean what I say.

I wait for George to say something, but he doesn't. He's leaving me no choice but to cut to the chase. "So, about tomorrow night..." I cough sheepishly to play for time.

"Yes?" George says – and my heart lifts. So he really wants to go out with me! Everything suddenly seems easy and straightforward. "Right," I continue. "Shall I pick you up at seven? I'd like to take you out to dinner. Is that OK?" It's surprising how my voice doesn't sound funny any more.

"Um, yeah, OK. Sure," is the timid answer. But nothing could discourage me now. I recognise his tone for what it is - or so I believe: a simple expression of nerves at the prospect of new experiences.

"That's settled, then", I pick up the conversation. Just as I mean to go on, I hear him mumble, "Yes. Alright. OK, bye."

"Wait," I call out, suppressing a laugh, "don't hang up! I don't know where you live yet!" - "Oh, of – of course," he stutters, and I almost feel sorry for him, he sounds so embarrassed. "No big deal," I try to reassure him. "So, what's your address?" He gives me the data and confirms, albeit in a stammer, that he will be expecting me at seven. "Terrific." As I put down the phone I feel a warm feeling of contentment in my stomach.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

I leave work early the next day. It's a regular weekday, but I wasn't all that productive anyway. After I get home, I spend the two and a half hours I have left getting ready. Even according to my standards, it is an inordinate amount of time, but I feel I need to do this properly. It's George's very first date, after all (although I still have trouble believing it). Plus, he is a man in his thirties (I'm guessing) who goes to the park dressed in a smart suit and tie. So a T-shirt and shorts won't do.

Still, I am too old to dress up ridiculously for a first date. I like it casual, and I don't think I should hide that. After that, I might just be tempted to change my appearance whenever I see George – provided more dates will follow.

I settle on a nice – quite expensive – pair of jeans, a shirt and a half-formal jacket. No tie, I tell myself. It would be too much. I don't want to feel like I'm acting or trying to impress a client. I want to be my natural self. After all, that's why I took to George so quickly: I felt I could really be the way I am with him. I'm quite satisfied when I look at my reflection in the mirror.

George's address is about fifteen minutes drive from my place. It's a nice area, not posh, but rather quiet. There are rows of two-storey houses on either side of the tranquil street, and ample parking space. I arrive early, having prepared for worse traffic than I encountered, so I just wait in the car. I don't use it that often, but with George's condition, I figure there is no other way to be safe. I put on a CD to take my mind off waiting. For me, it has to be Queen and today, I go with the 70s stuff. While trying not to overthink what is lying ahead, I renew my resolution to go easy tonight. It's for the best, I tell myself.

When the time arrives, I get out of my car, jog up a few steps towards the door and ring the doorbell labelled with the correct number. George's voice is clear through the speaker. He tells me to wait for him downstairs. It doesn't take him longer than a minute to come down, I think. To my astonishment, he is dressed quite flamboyantly in a teal suit and royal blue tie. The outfit sort of clashes with his shy demeanour. He looks like he has to make an effort not to avoid my eye when he breathes a shy "Hi" my way.

While I try to figure out how to greet him (a thought I had been actively pushing out of my mind for the past few hours), he surprises me yet again by pecking my left cheek with his lips. I feel the heat rise into my face and my knees go slightly trembly. I completely forget to greet him. We head to the car together without another word. It is only as we lean back in our seats that I notice that George has blushed crimson himself and is looking determinedly straight ahead. I smile at him, feeling more confident. "Your suit is very nice," I compliment him. "Oh, thanks. It's for… uh… special occasions." - "Perfect," I grin. "Let's go, shall we?"


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

We do not talk on our way to the restaurant. I enjoy the silence – it feels pleasant and natural. George looks out the side window most of the time. It is only after I have parked the car that he takes a deep breath and begins, "Listen, Stephen..."

Feeling apprehensive, I turn to look him in the face. His cheeks are pink and he looks nervous. "I have to talk to you about my condition." - "Okay, sure," I answer, smiling determinedly. "The thing is," George continues slowly, falteringly. "The thing is, I usually avoid excitement. Always have. I have never dared going on dates and things like that, because any strong emotion can trigger an attack. So, this means that I am not used to strong feelings – I don't even know if I am capable of… I mean, I've never..." he trails off. I think I understand. I make an effort to give my voice a reassuring quality. "Let's not worry about all this now, okay? Let's take it one step at a time, as you should."

"Okay." George breaths out heavily. "Still, there are things I'd like to know regarding your, er, condition," I plough on. George raises his eyebrows, looking taken aback. I raise my voice in order to give myself some confidence. "Yeah, well, I think it's important to be safe. I need to know what I should reckon with. Like, what's the worst that could happen? Or how can I tell in advance when an attack is coming? And when it does..."

"Alright, alright, easy!" he interjects. "Don't worry. Most of the time, I deal with all that on my own – you know, I live alone, so I have to. I usually know when something's about to happen. Then I sit down. So the worst thing that could happen is that you'll be embarrassed because your date is sitting down in the middle of the pavement. Or you might have to catch me." he adds, in the tone of an afterthought. Now I am the one who is taken aback. He said "date", and he talked about catching him. That seems quite brazen coming from him who claims not to know what he likes and doesn't like – even if he did blush much more deeply while he said it. Unable to help myself, I start chuckling. "Now, don't you worry about that."

"Well, if that's all, why don't we venture inside? It's nothing special, but I thought..." - "It looks lovely," George says. He gets out of the car and walks around it towards the entrance. I intended to offer him my arm to hold on to, but he just walks past me before I have the chance. Thank goodness. The walk up the stairs feels a bit awkward as well. I am unsure whether to walk behind George or next to him. He appears to feel the same way, as he keeps glancing back, waiting, then accelerating his steps in a confused, and confusing, manner.

I feel sillier still when I realize that I'm holding the door open for George, as if I was the gentleman and he the lady. But he doesn't seem to mind, or perhaps he just doesn't notice. I briefly raise my hand in greeting to the waiter - Kareem knows me – and lift my arm into the direction of our table. "I thought you'd, erm, like to sit on the sofa?" I say. "Yeah, that looks cozy. Thanks," George answers. I sigh with relief: we made it to the restaurant without faux-pas, accidents or episode.

George seems much more relaxed now, too. He smiles and takes the menu. "You look like you know the place well. Any recommendations?" I smile back. "I personally love pasta. You can't go wrong with an of the pasta dishes here. Or should it be something fancier?" George wrinkles his nose. "What's the fancy recommendation?" - "Salmon, of course," I answer. I don't like fish much, myself, but I feel it's a sophisticated thing to order and will make a good impression. "Salmon it is, then," grins George.


End file.
